


It Won't Be Long Now

by princessoftheworlds



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - All For The Game Fusion, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Sports, Don't have to have read AFTG to get this, Harry Potter References, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Minor Sharon Carter/Natasha Romanov, Past Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers, Scars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-10 01:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14727570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/pseuds/princessoftheworlds
Summary: James Winter has been on the run for the last decade of his life. He has known no true identity or home or family since he escaped Pierce, but his one constant has been the violent sport of exy. When opportunity comes calling in the form of Coach Nick Fury and his team, James breaks every rule he's ever had just to continue playing his beloved sport. It doesn't appear to be entirely worth it - the Avengers are the worst exy team in the college league - but there's a certain blond team captain who's intent on slowly capturing James's heart and breaking down his barriers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Funny story, this fic was supposed to be my entry for the Cap Reverse Bang, but I lost the motivation and was later inspired to write something else. Here I am again, trying to clean this fic up and get it out in the world. 
> 
> As mentioned in the tags and the summary, this fic is an All For The Game!au/fusion, but you do not have to have read the series to understand this fic. 
> 
>  
> 
> _All you need to know is that exy is a fictional sport that is the bastard child of hockey and soccer. It is played on a soccer-sized field with two 45 minute halves and a 15 minute half-time. There are six players per team: two strikers, a dealer (the player who begins each half by serving the exy puck), two backliners (who are basically defenders), and a goalkeeper. The players play with racquets and an exy ball that's basically a puck._
> 
>  
> 
> If you want to read more about exy, check [this](http://foxhole-court.wikia.com/wiki/Exy) out. And if you have any more questions, feel free to ask in the comments.
> 
> Also, keep in mind that AFTG deals with some heavy subjects, and I will update the tags with each chapter so keep an eye on the tags. You have been warned.
> 
> Thanks to [marleymortis](http://marleymortis.tumblr.com/) for being an amazing beta and cheerleader as usual.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James receives an offer he can't refuse.

Cigarette smoke reminds him of his father – not Pierce, _never_ Pierce – as it wafts in thin curls over the battered hand that clutches the cigarette, the end that glows like an ember held away from his face. His hand’s twin is wound around the grimy metal railing, its knuckles cracked and flecked with blood that isn’t his. His glacier-dark eyes gaze out to the distance, never really registering the muddy soccer field before him, his brain already lost in the familiar haze of a memory.

_“Stop smoking, George. That thing’s a literal death-trap.”_

_“Winnie, this cigarette ain’t more dangerous than a bullet according to you, but what’s gonna kill me first?”_

Cigarette smoke reminds him of his father - a man who ruffled his son’s hair and offered him little saltwater taffies from the depths of his coat pockets when there was always the constant scent of Lucky Strikes drifting closely behind him - but also of his mother - the crinkle at the corners of her eyes when she’d laugh and then lean in and kiss the smoke from his father’s mouth – and the brief, happy life they shared before everything went to shit.

His fingers snap open, and the Lucky Strike plummets to the ground, where it’s crushed by the already-muddied tip of his sneaker. He never brings the death-trap to touch his lips, not when his mother was right; George succumbed to lung cancer before he did to a bullet.

James sighs.

The past is a melancholy thing, and there is no need for it to be explored as much as James constantly does.

His hand finally pulls loose a strip of peeling paint from the railing, something that his nails had been digging at while his mind was elsewhere.

Leaning down to grab the strap of his duffel, James turns on his heel and heads inside the locker room.

When he wanders to the alley of lockers where the team usually changes -- never him, not with his scars, scars a normal high school student would never have -- James finds a boy a few years older straddling the stained bench in the middle.

Blond, blue-eyed, fairly muscular. He’s Steve Rogers, captain of SHIELD University’s the Avengers, the worst exy team in the college league.

Rogers is already rising to his feet, hand outstretched as it reaches for James. “Hey,” he says with the charming, friendly smile that has endeared him to most sports media outlets despite his team’s horrible reputation, “You must be James. I’m Steve Rogers from the Avengers. You might have heard of us?” He’s blushing pink almost like he’s bashful, but James’s heart is already pounding, his gaze flickering wildly between Steve and the double doors that lead outside.

At that moment, the door to Coach Sitwell’s office opens, and out steps Sitwell and Nick Fury.

Fury, the coach of the Avengers, is an African-American man with a resting bitch-face and an eyepatch; he towers over Coach Sitwell, a bald Latino man with glasses.

“James,” Sitwell cries in excitement when he lays eyes on James. “Look who’s here to recruit you to the Avengers!”

James’s eyes dart between Fury, Rogers, and Sitwell, and then he bolts, grip tightening around the strap of his duffel bag as he streaks towards the door.

He can hear Sitwell apologize to Fury behind him. “He’s an unpredictable kid,” Sitwell explains. “He’s got an unsteady relationship with his parents and most of his peers. His parents are always out of town.”

“Every Avenger is like that,” Rogers comments. “James will fit right in. We’re all a bit messed up.”

“Winter,” Fury barks. “What’s your hurry?”

James turns to stare at them, and briefly, he sees a man in a bespoke suit with reddish-blond hair and watery blue eyes frowning disappointedly. Then James shakes his head. _Pierce isn’t here right now_ , he reminds himself. _He’s in prison._

“What’s your hurry, Winter?” Fury repeats, Rogers having come to his side to peer intently at James. “Why don’t you stay and hear us out before fleeing? Most people at least wait for a few minutes when an NCAA Class I exy team comes to them with an offer.”

James crosses his arms across his chest, maintaining the distance between him and Fury. “I didn’t even apply to SHIELD.”

“Your coach reached out,” Rogers interjects, blue eyes gleaming despite the shitty fluorescent lights. “He sent us some tapes of you playing.”

James’s brow furrows as he glares at Sitwell, the coach smiling like he expects James to be enthusiastic about this.

“Sitwell here said that you’d only been playing for a few years and that you hadn’t applied to any colleges for a sports scholarship,” Fury states dryly, “but what I’d like to know is how a teenaged boy from Bumfuck, Arizona learned to play as a striker like that?”

“Millport,” Sitwell adds absently, but everyone ignored him. “It’s Millport, Arizona, not Bumfuck, Arizona.”

 _Fuck_. _Fuck._ The only reason James picked Millport to hide out in was because it was literally in the middle of fucking nowhere. No one would come out to Arizona to find a runaway playing on Millport’s less than average exy team.

Or, at least, that was what James had thought.

“I learn quickly,” James shoots back. “And I didn’t apply anywhere because I didn’t exactly have plans to go to college.” There’s an awkward pause while the other three men stare at him in disbelief. “My parents wouldn’t let me anyways,” he finishes lamely. “So, thanks for the offer, but I’m gonna have to say no.”

Fury continues staring intensely at James, who bristles but manages to control himself. “Your loss,” Fury announces, shrugging, before turning dramatically and exiting the locker room. Following closely behind Fury, Sitwell shoots James a disappointed look.

That leaves Rogers in the locker room with James.

Rogers smiles kindly at James as he moves towards the door, but when he’s got one foot out the door, he seems to have a change of heart and turns to face James. “Hey,” he says gently. “You’re eighteen, right? So, technically, as a legal adult, it doesn’t matter what your parents would say. And I know that the Avengers aren’t the best team or the most organized, but we all really love playing exy, and we’re like a family, which I think is better than playing to win. So, if you love exy as much as I think you do, I think you’d like SHIELD and the Avengers. Just give us a chance.”

He sounds so genuine and hopeful that James swallows roughly. “I’ll think about it,” he replies hoarsely.

Then Rogers beams, and James finds himself drawn to the pink curve of Rogers’s lips as he smiles. James shuts that line of thinking down pretty quickly.

Attachments and relationships don’t do anything good for someone like him; they’ll only get him killed.

“I hope you decide to come,” Rogers tells him quietly, and James nods.

Left in the locker room alone, James bites his lip, torn.

On one side is his intense desire to play exy; on the other is his promise to Winifred Barnes to stay alive and away from the sport.

 _It’ll only get you killed_ , she had told him once while they were stuck in a hotel room in Paris. _Exy is dangerous_. _You’ll only get Pierce’s attention._

When he’d protested, _Exy is just a sport_ , she’d raised both her voice and her hand on him for the first and only time.

“I’m sorry, Ma,” James mutters to the empty locker room. “It’s exy. I have to play.”

His mind made up, he peeks out to the parking lot, and when finding it empty, he sprints to the abandoned home he’s squatting in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James arrives on campus and has another interesting encounter with Steve on the exy court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags are updated as necessary with each chapter.

Fury emailed James’s airplane ticket and travel arrangement to Sitwell, who passed it to James. After a long flight, James steps out of the frigid air-conditioning of the Richmond International Airport and into the muggy Virginia heat, he spots a blue Volkswagen Beetle parked along the nearest curb. Leaning against the driver side, with a grey t-shirt stretched obscenely across his pecs, is Steve Rogers.

Rogers’s eyes light up when they land on James, and the blond straightens up and calls, “I guess I’m your ride!”

“I guess so,” James replies dryly when he gets closer to Rogers, but other man’s smile doesn’t diminish in the slightest.

“Wanna put your stuff in the trunk?” Rogers asks causally, casting a searching gaze at James’s sides.

“This is all I have,” James states, lifting up his trusty duffel bag by its strap, “and I’d prefer to keep it on me.”

“Up to you,” Rogers tells him and flips his car keys through his hands a few times before unlocking the car. “Go ahead and sit down.”

As James takes a seat in the front, Rogers slips behind the wheel and starts the engine. He shoots James a quick glance to ensure that they are both wearing their seatbelts before throwing the gear shift into drive and pulling onto the road.

“Everyone’s still on summer break, but I always come back early,” Rogers explains as they turn onto the highway and he weaves the car through traffic. “Coach is also gone for a month, on vacation or something, so it’s just gonna be you and me until then.”

James releases a noncommittal sound of acknowledgement, turning his head to gaze at the passing cars out the window.

Rogers continues to talk, rambling about how much James’s is going to like the campus and how he can give him a tour and how his best friend Sam’s not coming back for a few weeks and how James’s is the only new recruit this year. Listening to Rogers, James frowns. There’s something familiar to the deep tenor of Rogers’s voice.

“Where are you from, Rogers?” he asks, his eyes flickering to the blond briefly.

“What?” Rogers frowns momentarily, likely thrown off by James’s question. “Oh, I’m from Brooklyn, but I mostly stay in Harlem with Sam and his family when I go back to visit. There’s nothing really left there in New York for me anymore.” He pauses. “And you can call me Steve; I don’t mind.”

James nods in response, wondering about the ambiguity of Steve’s statement about New York. “Alright, Steve,” James says, and they lapse back into silence.

After about half an hour, they get close to the SHIELD campus, and Steve starts to point out various buildings.

“Over there are the normal student dorms,” he explains as they pass a red-bricked building with massive windows, “but you’ll be staying in the Tower with the rest of the student athletes. Tony likes to call it Avengers Tower; he’s one of our backliners. You’ll meet him later. He’s in Malibu right now with his girlfriend Pepper.”

James knows who Tony Stark is, a genius orphan whose billionaire parents died in a car crash when he was fifteen, just as he knows who Sam Wilson, who earned his brief stint in juvie for petty thievery, is; he’s done his research on his new teammates.

“That’s the psychology building,” Steve says suddenly. He’s referring to a squat brick building overlooking a large expanse of green grass and a small pond. “What’s your major?” he asks conversationally.

“Russian,” James replies dully.

“You probably won’t have any classes there then unless you take an elective,” Steve tells him. “Russian, huh? How’d you choose that?”

“I know a lotta languages,” James says honestly. “Russian just isn’t one of them.”

“That’s interesting,” Steve says with a nod. “Nat, one of our goalies, is from Russia. She could probably help you practice if you ever need it.”

Natasha Romanoff, James’s brain filters in helpfully. Born Natalia Romanova, daughter to a Russian diplomat, until her parents died in a mysterious house fire when she was a child. Spent some time in a Washington DC orphanage before disappearing for half a decade. She most recently turned up two years ago when she was recruited to the Avengers out of Baltimore.

“Nah,” James says. “I don’t think I’ll be at that level for a while.”

He likely will, seeing that he picks up languages rather quickly, but he wants to limit his exposure to Romanoff, the most mysterious of his new teammates.

“Here we are,” Steve announces as he pulls the car into a parking spot and turns the engine off. They step out of the vehicle, and Steve locks it, pocketing the key. “Welcome to the Tower.”

The Tower, which is literally a tall tower of steel and glass, has similar glass doors that slide open when Steve flashes his student ID at the scanner. There is a small but cozy-looking lobby, but Steve bypasses that completely, leading James to an elevator near a stairwell access.

“We’ll only be able to get you your student ID in a month once the fall semester starts, but, for now, if you ever need it, you can use mine or the access code. It’s currently 0427,” Steve explains as they crowd into the elevator.

“Alright,” James states before the elevator begins to ascend and they fall into a silence so awkward that he racks his brain for a question. “So, uh,” he begins. “Where’s the stadium?”

Steve’s expression lights up; he’s clearly passionate about exy and this school. “We call it the Nest. You can’t see it right now or from the Tower, but it’s directly behind us. Same code as the Tower if you want to check it out. Otherwise, I’ll show you tomorrow or something.”

James nods as the elevator chimes, arriving on their floor.

“This is the Avengers floor,” Steve says as they step off. “I’m further down the hall with Sam. Nat, Sharon, and Wanda share a room as do Bruce and Pietro. Tony and Clint are in the dorm beside yours. You’ll be rooming alone since we’ve no other new recruits this year.” He passes James a key as they arrive in front of James’s new dorm door. “Here’s your stop. I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything, you know where to find me.” He shrugs before proceeding down the hallway.

“Thanks,” James calls after him.

He unlocks the door to find a standard college dorm with two beds and desks and closets built into the wall. Luckily for James, there’s an empty drawer with a keypad that locks it, and in there he sets his binder of money, the set of brown contacts like the ones that are currently masking his true eye color, and fake driver’s license before covering it with clothes.

Pierce may be in jail right now, but James is never really safe from his scheming step-father or his associates. He has always taken all precautions necessary and possible; it was instilled in him by his mother.

It’s time to explore his new campus.

 

* * *

 

When the moon is a pale smudge in the dark sky and his new dorm room is as silent as a graveyard, James lays on his new bed, back adjusting to the stubborn mattress, restless eyes gazing up at the ceiling.

Sleep never comes easily for James, not after what he’s been through, but his insomnia is always worse on his first night in a new location. His eyes make monsters of the shadows, and his paranoia sometimes takes the better of him.

With one last, failed attempt to capture sleep, James is up on his feet, slipping his toes into his sneakers and grabbing his new keys and the sturdy little lockpick tool that he keeps in a pocket of his duffel.

When he skulks out the door, it’s only immense self-control that keeps him from grabbing the duffel out of habit.

Outside, the night air is cool against his bare arms, but he doesn’t mind the slight chill as he makes his way to the Nest.

Having seen the expansive building in daylight hours allows James to head straight to the gate. He feels along the chain-link for a few moments before wrapping his fingers around the padlock. Years of practice has the padlock and chains removed silently and in a matter of minutes once James picks the lock.

He sticks close to the tall walls that he knows are actually red and white in daylight and types in the code that Steve told once he reaches the double doors that mark the players’ entrance.

The inside of the Nest is slightly dusty and battered, but James takes an immediate liking to it. After all, it wouldn’t be fitting if the Avengers had a gleaming exy stadium.

James follows the door marked AVENGERS and then slips into what he presumes to be the boys locker room, the same as the locker room back in Millport except done in red and white. A white door set into the wall between two large-screened televisions demands James’s attention.

The moment he opens the door, he stares down the short hallway where bright light flowing in from the stadium is visible. The dull thud of the heavy exy ball echoes down to where James stands.

The lure of the sport propels him into movement, and he stumbles down the hall to emerge into the stadium.

It’s the literal stuff of James’s dreams. It doesn’t matter that this is where the worst team of the league practices; James is standing in an official exy stadium for the first time in about a decade, and he feels nearly overcome with wonder.

Red and white seats are spread out around him, and the ceiling lights hang miles above his head. There’s the first set of plexiglass walls that separate the seats from the team benches, and then there’s the innermost set of plexiglass walls that surrounds the court with doors built in. The court itself has a floor of polished and glossy wood, marked by white lines. The goals are indicated on either side of the rectangle court in a frame of sensors that flare up red when the ball strikes inside.

Standing on the half-court line, racquet in hand and in full gear plus helmet, is Steve Rogers, slamming his racquet against a line of balls and watching them fly close to the goal and score or miss by only inches.

When James finally steps onto the court and takes his first breath, nerves humming with anticipation, Steve looks up and waves.

“Hey,” the blond calls, looking smaller and paler under the stark fluorescent lights. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Nope,” James replies, his voice carrying in the empty stadium.

“Wanna join in?” Steve gestures to his racquet and the bucket of exy balls besides him. “Your uniform hasn’t arrived yet, but you can find a spare that might fit you back in the locker room. You can also borrow my spare racquet.”

James nods before returning to the locker room.

The protective gear that he pulls on from a basket in the corner is a bit loose on James’s lanky frame, but he decides that it’ll work fine as he tightens his helmet and checks his armored gloves.

Back on the court, Steve hands him a simple black racquet, standard for any striker like Steve or James. James tests it for a few swings, feeling its weight in his hands and trying to work out the power he needs to put into his hits.

“How about a little competition, just to get us used to each other?” Steve suggests. “First one to get ten points stays behind to lock up.”

James shrugs. “That was going to be you anyways. I don’t how this place works. I just used the code you told me.”

Steve wrinkles his nose as he smiles. “Alright. Just consider this a test.”

Nodding swiftly, James steps back to allow Steve to make his first swing.

They take shots at the balls, keeping it fairly simple by staying at half-court. The goal lights up red numerous times as the sensors beep, but it never stops being satisfying to James.

To his credit, Steve is a decent shot, making about eight goals out of the total fifteen he attempts. Of course, James isn’t surprised; there’s a reason besides his fair and supportive demeanor that Steve was made captain as a sophomore last year.

Steve himself is surprised when James makes twelve of the fifteen goals he attempts. “Damn,” Steve comments with a raised eyebrow, chest heaving slightly for breath. “You were a good pick for a rookie. And you only played for a year in high school before this?”

If you don’t count three years of little league, James thinks. Internally, he knows that it was a poor idea to attempt to go full out in front of his new team captain, but he couldn’t resist. Either way, his aching arms and sweat-soaked back are signs of how much he loves this sport.

He nods. “Got any water?” he questions, trying to push his already mussed hair away from his face. It’s getting a bit long; he’s gonna need it cut soon.

“Here,” Steve tosses a plastic water bottle at James before guzzling water from an identical one. “I always keep an extra,” he explains once he swallows, dragging a spare hand to wipe the sweat from his face. “I’m here practically every night anyways.”

James nearly drains the bottle before dropping it to the ground. “Insomnia?” he asks curiously, eyes darting over to Steve.

“Not exactly,” Steve replies. “Exy just helps keep my mind off somethings. Besides, if I don’t practice, I’ll never make it to Court.”

“You too?” James’s voice becomes hushed, like Court is this sacred thing.

Except, to exy players, Court may as well be. Only serious players think about trying to make it to the US national exy team where they can play on the Olympics.

It’s been James’s dream since he was a kid, fuel to give him hope when life demanded he grow up too quickly. It’s never seemed feasible.

“I watched Fury on the first national team. He was the one who inspired me to play,” Steve confirms. “Exy was the only thing I could watch on TV that wouldn’t bore me out after a few hours.”

James almost always forgets that Fury was part of the first wave of exy players once the sport made its way to America from Japan. The man had potential to be one of the best players in the world, but his career was cut short by a car accident that took out his eye.

“Spent a lot of time inside?” James teases, or tries to, since it seems like something a normal person would do in conversation.

“I had a sickly, lonely childhood,” Steve explains but doesn’t say much else.

James doesn’t press. “So, you’re here every night?” he asks, stretching out his legs in front of him and leaning his back against the plexiglass.

“Basically,” Steve replies, stowing the racquet he’d lent James back into his bag before reaching for his own. “You’re welcome to join me again any night.”

“Guess I will,” James says quietly and then follows Steve as they exit the stadium.

The next night, he doesn’t even question it when he creeps from his room and into the stadium until his nightly practices with Steve become a usual thing. Before he knows it, two weeks pass, and it’s early August.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James bonds more with Steve and finally meets the rest of his team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags are updated as necessary with each chapter.

James's interactions with Steve are not only limited to their night practices. Steve takes him on a tour around campus, shows him the surrounding town, including a movie theater and the art store where Steve works, and takes him out to lunch on four separate occasions.

James discovers that, not only is Steve a wonderful captain and skilled exy player, he is also a kind and passionate man with strong morals and a backbone of steel, and he finds himself letting things slip to Steve that he would have never told anyone else, like the name of his childhood pet, his penchant for running, and how obsessed with exy he really is.

Still, Steve is quite quiet about his past and how he began to play exy, and James's own knowledge is limited to Steve’s time in foster care and his recruitment by Fury out of a high school in Brooklyn. James can only use the little tidbits and occasional childhood stories that Steve drops to piece the man’s past together.

On one occasion, while they’re out for lunch at a local Mexican restaurant, Steve mentions the Avengers’ yearly Harry Potter movie marathons, and it being the only book series that James managed to keep up with during life on the run, they descend into an enthusiastic conversation.

“Sam insists that I’m a Hufflepuff, and Natasha agrees with him, but I just don’t see it,” Steve explains as he takes a large bite of his burrito, eyes wide in genuine confusion.

James shakes his head as he picks at his own quesadilla. “Nah. You’re a definite Gryffindor. No question.”

“How do you know?” Steve asks, wiping his hands on a paper napkin.

“Gut feeling,” James replies vaguely, and Steve’s eyes narrow in on how James is separating the bell peppers from the cheese on his plate.

“Not a big fan of vegetables, are you?” Steve questions, mouth curling up in amusement.

James shrugs. Vegetables and food in general were always one of the few choices he had control over in the past. “I don’t like how they taste,” he offers.

“I used to be very picky as a kid,” Steve tells him, “but my ma finally had it and made sure I started eating my vegetables. She’s the one who introduced me to _Harry Potter_.” He shifts his knife and fork onto his plate, his eyes suspiciously sad. “It’s the little things that make me miss her,” he states with a melancholic smile.

James can sympathize with mourning a mother.

“Hey,” he says a bit abruptly, not used to attempting to be comforting. He slides his hand over Steve’s in a gesture that’s meant to be reassuring. “I bet she was a wonderful person.”

Steve’s smile becomes a little bit brighter. “She was. She most definitely was.”

 

* * *

 

On the first day of August, Steve shows up to his dorm door, holding a soccer ball. “Hey,” he says in greeting. “So, in about half an hour, Tony and Clint will be moving their stuff in their dorm, and Sam and the girls will be arriving a little later. I thought we’d clear out for a few hours. Everyone’s gonna meet up at the Nest in the afternoon for our first practice, so you can meet them then.”

Despite the strong urge to stay and guard his secrets from an influx of strangers into the building, he accepts Steve’s offer. It will look suspicious if he doesn’t.

He feels manic and can't resist the compulsion to check the drawer, to yank the lock and ensure it's secured, to protect and guard and shelter. And his hands are shaking while he forces them grab his wallet and keys.  
  
To his own ears, he sounds a little breathless when he tells Steve, “Let's go.” The click of the tumbler on his door lock brings him that last little bit of comfort.

They head to the east side of the campus and pick a nice field of grass under the shade of some maple trees to kick the soccer ball around on.

Eventually, their antics evolve into a game where each man tries to score on the other, and James finds himself smiling and laughing much more than he can remember doing in the past few years.

They break at lunch, and Steve leads James to the dining hall. He tells James, “I know their food isn’t the greatest, but you had to eat here eventually.”

James shrugs in response.

Afterwards, they take a walk that loops them twice around the campus and finally leads them to the Nest just in time for the beginning of practice.

They’re a little bit early so James follows Steve to the common room that’s nestled between the boys and girls locker rooms.

He’s only been in here once before, so as he and Steve settle onto a plush two-person couch, his gaze bounces between the wall plastered with pictures of the team, the empty display case meant for trophies, the two large-screened televisions, and the couches and recliners opposite their couch.

Fury walks in, still looking as imposing as he had in Millport’s locker room. Phil Coulson, team nurse, follows him. Coulson is Fury's right-hand man and carries an air of earnestness about him. The team therapist, Maria Hill, brings up the rear, her eyes steely and her hair swept into a tight bun against her skull.

James has also met Coulson and Hill when he went in for his mandatory medical and psych evaluations, and Hill nods at him while Coulson waves.

Whereas, Fury himself fixes James with a stare that is unusually perceptive for being limited to one eye. “Looks like you’ve settled in, Winter,” he says dryly, eye focusing on the closeness between Steve and James.

“I guess so,” James says briefly in reply. He continues to be wary of the Avengers’ coach. Most men around Pierce's age trigger James's urge to flee or hide, but James is tired of letting his caution guide his actions and decisions. He will stand his ground and do his best to disregard the coach’s age. Besides, Fury gives off a vibe that clearly reads "This is the field in which I grow my fucks. Note that it is barren."

“And you, Rogers,” Fury says to Steve. “Did you get Winter’s uniform ordered like you were told to?”

“Yes, Nick,” Steve replies with only the slightest bit of sass, “we got his measurements. The uniform arrived last week.”

“Good.” Fury nods stiffly before disappearing into his office, Coulson and Hill following behind.

“My summer was fine,” Steve calls after him. “Thanks for asking, Nick.” Turning to James, he offers a smile. “Fury can be a bit of a hard-ass, but you’ll get used to him. Deep down, he really wants what’s best for the team.”

“I can see that,” James states, and Steve laughs.

After twenty minute, the first of James's new teammates wanders in and very enthusiastically calls out, “Steve, my man!”

Steve jumps to his feet and envelopes the newcomer in a welcoming hug. “Sammy!” he says. “I missed you!” They separate and bumps fists.

“Well, that’s what happens when you don’t come and visit your best friend!” Sam tells Steve. “Ma was furious that I didn’t get you to come this summer.”

Steve pouts. “I couldn’t! I had to set things up for this year. Darlene will forgive me, won’t she?”

“Maybe if you visit the next time you’re in the city,” Sam says with a chuckle.

“Definitely,” Steve says with a serious nod, pretending to wince when Sam punches him lightly on the arm.

“Well,” Sam states, fixing James with a friendly – if not, a bit assessing – glance. “Are you gonna introduce me to your boy here?”

James fixes Sam with a muted, disarming smile that he hopes still comes across as friendly. “I’m James,” he says, extending his hand in a handshake that Sam accepts. “James Winter.”

“He’s our newest striker,” Steve interjects enthusiastically.

“Oh, good,” Sam says. “We could use another striker. Pietro’s good and all, but sometimes he’s too fast to keep up with in a game. I’m one of the two permanent dealers on the Avengers; Sharon’s the other. Clint moonlights as both a dealer and a backliner, but we need him more as a backliner because of his wicked aim. Maybe with you around, our luck might change a bit. Maybe we’ll score a few more goals.”

Sam is of course referring to the Avengers’ mile-long losing streak.

“I certainly hope so,” James tells him. “That’s supposed to be the reason you guys recruited me.”

Sam throws his head back and laughs, a warm and wonderful sound that is infectious enough to also make Steve smile. “And he’s a comedian too,” Sam says to Steve. “You and Fury made an excellent choice.”

James can see why Steve is best friends with Sam; the dealer seems to be full of life in the same way that Steve is, cracking jokes every so often that make Steve break into a smile or let loose a laugh. But Sam’s also, like Steve, got the wise crinkles around his eyes that tells James that he’s seen and experienced shit.

“I missed you, Sammy,” Steve repeats, a bit of nostalgia in his tone, and they fall silent at Steve’s words, but it’s a warm, tolerable silence that James enjoys as they remain tucked in the common room’s couches.

A few minutes pass, and the rest of their team begins trickling in.

Sharon Carter, tall, pretty with clever eyes, and muscular in a way that every backliner is, walks in and immediately wraps Steve in a tight hug. Even after they separate, their gazes linger on each other – “They dated for a few months last year,” Sam explains, and James feels an odd kind of heat in his stomach when he notices this, but the sensation doesn’t last long until Sharon references a goal scored by a goalie on one of the professional exy teams, and they launch into a brief conversation.

Sharon is quite knowledgeable about exy history, which can be credited back to her own family history. Sharon’s aunt Peggy was one of the sport’s first professional female players on the US Court when exy first came to the United States in the 1970s and 1980s; Peggy raised Sharon after her parents and younger brother perished in a tragic house fire that Sharon survived. Then, Peggy passed away herself just after Sharon committed to SHIELD University, Peggy’s alma mater.

Their conversation is interrupted by the appearance of Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, two Sokovian-American siblings who came into the spotlight because of their famous parents’ ugly divorce. Their mother Magda is a well-known cellist who lives in Boston while their father Erik is a wealthy steel magnate now married to prominent American senator Charles Xavier. Wanda is a dark-eyed wisp of a girl, but James has seen enough of her games as a backliner to know not to underestimate. Her twin Pietro, on the other hand, is as swift as Sam’s complaining implies, though his droopy eyes and erratic energy give James the impression that he’s on some kind of drug.

James decides to steer clear of him, but Wanda seems sweet enough.

Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, and Natasha Romanoff arrive together. Clint is wicked-eyed with impressive muscles on his arms and speaks with a disarming Midwestern drawl. He seems well-adjusted aside from the giant paper coffee cup in one hand, but the raised scars across his arms and exposed legs tell of a rough childhood childhood of parental abuse and a short time spent in foster care. He exchanges a fist bump with Steve before bro-hugging Sam.

Bruce seems content to nod at everyone rather than physical greetings. He’s the kind of guy who prefers to keep to himself and is friendly in an awkward kind of way. Based on James's research, he too suffered from an abusive father figure and parental neglect. He’s small, at least for a goalie, and unassuming with his curly hair and glasses, but Steve has mentioned Bruce’s wicked temper before.

Natasha, on the other hand, sidles up to Steve and Sam, pressing kisses to both men’s cheeks and flirting a bit with Sharon. James assumes it’s all for fun until she pulls the other girl in for a deep kiss, surprising James.

“They’re dating,” Steve explains once he catches James's bewildered stare. “I hope you don’t have any problems with that, or you’ll have to learn to keep your thoughts to yourself.”

The sharpness of his tone has James tripping over himself to explain. “What, no. I’m not homophobic. I’m just surprised. It’s the South, and Virginia has a bit of a reputation.”

Steve lets loose a laugh. “Nope, pal. You’ve got us mistaken. SHIELD was voted one of the best liberal college campuses in the country.”

Romanoff glances at him, her gaze sharp and far too perceptive. If he hadn't already decided to keep his distance from her, that look alone would have convinced him.

Finally, Fury returns to the common room where they’re all seated, Coulson and Hill by his side. “Good, you’re all here,” he says gruffly.

James only counts nine; there’s ten on the team, including him.

“Uh, Coach,” Clint breaks in, “there’s only nine. Tony’s missing.”

Fury rolls his eyes. “I know that, Barton. Now, sit your ass down.”

Sam leans in, whispering in James's ear. “Stark doesn’t run on normal people time.”

Steve reaches around James to elbow his best friend in the ribs. “Be nice. We all know that Tony can be a bit of an ass, but let’s at least pretend to like each other in front of the new kid.”

“You cursed Stark out in front of me last week,” James reminds Steve.

That wins a chuckle out of Sharon and Clint. “I’m gonna like you,” Sharon tells James, arm slung around her girlfriend’s shoulder.

There’s loud applause from the entrance of the room that has them all twist around in their seats, startled.

Tony Stark shoves his sunglasses up to perch at his hairline and strides forwards into the room. “Did you guys miss me? Anyone? Nat?”

“Fuck off, Stark,” Romanoff shoots back. “You’re making us all late.”

“Romanoff is right,” Fury says.  “Sit your sorry ass down, Stark. We’ve got a team to knock into shape.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James has his first exy practice with the Avengers and reluctantly agrees to go out with Steve, Sharon, and Sam.

James wishes he could say that the Avengers’ first practice of the season goes well, but that would be a lie.

After Fury formally introduces him to the team, mandates that the late arrivals go through their psych and medical evals before their first game, and gives a cursory speech about the start of the season, the Avengers head to change into their gear.

James hesitates before he enters the locker room.

He’s lucky that Fury, while designing the stadium, had decided to include private showers and changing stalls that he can duck inside to change in, but he doesn’t know if his teammates will find it unusual.

“Are you coming?” Steve calls through the open door, stripping off his tight shirt to reveal an impressive chest sculpted by years of exy practices.

“Just a moment,” James says, slowly shuffling inside. With deliberate movements, he makes his way towards the stall.

When no one spares him even a glance, he shoves the door open and slips inside, changing quickly with an ease that only comes from practice and years on the run.

Even when he steps out, completely decked out in the black and red of his brand-new Avengers-branded exercise gear, Steve only nods to him, grinning.

“Hey, new guy,” Stark hollers, and James freezes in place. “You don’t look half-bad in our team colors.”

With a sigh of relief, James realizes that none of his teammates have nothing to say about what he considers to be unusual behavior. The rest of the men in the locker room must be used to teammates like him with scars to hide.

But, for James, it isn’t the fact that he has scars to hide; it’s the type of scars, the heavy brutality dealt to his body that will bring up questions about the guarded past he’s fleeing from.

Once they hit the court and Fury starts them on some warm-up drills, however, that’s when it all goes haywire.

The team has potential; James can see it in the silent communication between Sam and Steve as the dealer and striker swiftly bounce the ball up and down the court. Sharon’s got a powerful swing that can lob the ball into the goal from half a court away. Initially, James believes that, due to Clint’s near-perfect aim, he would be better-suited to playing as a striker, but he comes to see how Clint’s passes are not clean enough for him to be effective on the front of the team’s line-up. Natasha is possibly one of the best goalies that James has ever seen; her tiny frame doesn’t stop her from smashing balls away from the net with her giant racquet.

The Avengers could be a real force to be reckoned with if they were just polished up a bit.

And if they also learned to work as the _team_ they’re supposed to be.

Steve is an excellent captain, always calling good plays or giving his team instructions that most players try to listen to, but his stubbornness in sticking to his decisions causes him to constantly butt heads with Tony and his flamboyant style of playing. Tony himself spends half the time complaining about Steve or chatting with Bruce. Bruce, for his own part, makes attempts to play with the team but seems like he’s almost afraid to put in his all when he’s in the goal.

Then there’s Pietro and Wanda who mainly stick to their own parts of the court. Though Wanda may occasionally come out of her shell to comply with Steve’s decisions, she only interacts with her brother. Pietro is a whole different story; moody and unreliable, he makes snippy comments, throws temper tantrums, riles half the team up, and can only be calmed by Wanda.

James observes all this and more in a two-hour-long practice.

When Steve stops by him to ask what he thinks about the team, James doesn’t shy away. “There’s real potential here,” he tells the captain, “but also the team’s a bit of a hot mess.”

Steve sighs. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. Looks like Fury and I really got our work cut out for us.”

 

* * *

 

After the first couple of practices, James falls into a temporary routine.

Each morning, he’ll attend the team practices until lunch. Later in the afternoon, Fury mandates that the entire team train at their university gym for a few hours. Then, there’s a few hours of downtime before and after dinner.

But James's favorite part of the day is easily the three hours he spends practicing alone with Steve at the Nest. He can bond with his team captain and learn more about him than he has ever really cared enough to learn about another person.

Steve is really the only teammate James interacts with, and the rest of the Avengers quickly take notice and begin attempts to coax James out of his shell within the first week by tracking him down after their practices.

The first day – Monday after practice, they are all busy registering with classes, a feat that James did not expect to be this difficult. He gets burdened with Chemistry, Calculus, Expository Writing, American History, and Introduction to Russian. They are all basic courses that freshmen are required to take, usually spread out across all four years, but James is stuffing them into the first so that he can at least achieve the bare minimums of a college education, because he’s given himself an ultimatum.

He’s been on the run for about a decade, give or take a few years, and everything he’s done during that time has been to lend itself to his survival, even choosing Russian as a major – one more language he knows could be one more to help him blend in, to open up a whole new continent to hide in, and to save his ass.

He’ll take one year of exy, _this year_ , for himself, a luxury he can already barely afford, and at the end of the year, James Winter will be dead, the identity shed like a too-small coat. The man who wore Winter’s face will be in a different country with a new name.

But just because he’s taking exy for himself doesn’t mean that’ll he’ll forget all the precautions that his mother taught him. He can’t help how close he’s gotten to Steve, but he can’t risk that with the rest of his teammates.

His lack of a roommate and unfamiliarity with the team helps him avoid them for a few more days as he hides off in his room. By Friday, he’s waved off an offer for a movie and a game night from the most friendly and vocal of the Avengers – Sam, Sharon, and Clint. Steve doesn’t attempt to force him to go but makes comments about how much fun he’ll be missing out on as they practice at night.

Thus, by Saturday, James finds himself in a dilemma: If he keeps telling the Avengers no, they’ll become a little suspicious, but he also can’t become too close to them.

After careful deliberation, he agrees to go bowling with Sam, Sharon, and Steve on Sunday, the only day that Fury doesn’t have them practicing.

 

* * *

 

“I can walk,” James tells Sharon as she holds the door of Steve’s VW open for him. “It’ll be really cramped with all of us in there.”

“C’mon,” Sharon reasons, “you can’t walk to the bowling alley. It’s like fifteen minutes by car alone.” She lifts her eyebrows at him in disbelief.

“James, man,” Sam calls from inside the car. “It’s on the edge of town. Do you even know how to get there?”

Steve has the final word. “James, lemme just give you a ride. You already walk everywhere. Plus, it’s more fun if we arrive as a group. You don’t even have a cellphone that we can contact you on if there are any problems.”

His expression is so earnest and hopeful, and coupled with his large and pleading blue eyes, James is compelled to say yes.

“Fine,” he tells the rest of the team, “but you’re paying for me.”

“Dude,” Sharon tells him. “We were going to do that anyway.”

Steve smiles brightly, and something in James’s chest tickles at the sight.

They drive for about twenty minutes, passing through a tangle of streets that James would not have been able to navigate on his own. They had been right about James not being able to walk alone; if you factored in the summer heat, it would have taken him at least an hour.

The bowling alley is small and slightly dingy, but the employee manning the front counter greets Steve and the others by name and has their bowling shoes ready on the counter, only pausing to ask James's shoe size.

“It’s family-owned,” Steve explains as they make their way to their assigned lane, Sharon and Sam having disappeared to retrieve bowling balls. “Sam and I have been coming here since freshmen year, and Sharon started joining us last year.”

Once the other two members of their little party return, they begin bowling. Sharon is up first so they can all watch her for any shenanigans.

“She always wins,” Sam tells James. “Almost every game since last year. So, we make her go first so we can see if she cheats or something.”

“Have you actually caught her so far?” James asks in amusement.

“Nope,” Steve replies. “But we have a very large wager against her. Most of the team does. Nat thinks we don’t know how to lose fair and square, but c’mon. How can one person win like 99% of our games? It doesn’t matter how good she is. It’s probability. She’s bound to lose at some point, but she never seems to.”

As James has learned, the Avengers love their bets, and Steve, the principled team captain, doesn’t mind.

“It gives us some kind of unity,” he says, “which, as you’ve seen, we desperately need.”

Sharon knocks out all ten pins in a flawless strike, the same skill James has seen her display on the exy court, and Sam groans.

“I’m gonna lose again,” he states. “Maybe I’ll be lucky this time, and you’re a shitty bowler.”

Sam tosses the ball so atrociously that it rolls down the gutter, and Steve only fares slightly better, knocking down four pins. Then, it’s James's turn.

For all of his passion for exy, he doesn’t really care for other sports, even if they’re recreational like bowling, but he’s got a bit of a competitive edge. So, he aims deliberately and brings his arm forward to release the ball, scoring a clean strike as he knocks out ten pins.

Sharon boos at him, but it’s all in good nature. Sam looks a bit surprised and disappointed but fist-bumps James as he returns to where they’re sitting. Steve only grins at him.

After Sharon scores another strike, James is up again. As he passes Sam, the other man tells him, “I’m rooting for you.”

Unfortunately for Sam, James's concentration wavers in his next few turns, and he ends up scoring lower than Sharon but still landing at second. Steve is third, and Sam, who reads the scoreboard with a scowl, is in last place.

“Sorry,” James tells him with a shrug.

They head to a nearby diner for lunch, where Sharon begins by asking James more about his life back in Millport.

Guardedly, he offers up the same vague details he’s told anyone else who’s asked so far. Distant parents who are always working, a small town he couldn’t wait to get away from, picking up exy to get out of town more often, etc.

No one needs to know that he only lived in Millport for a year.

James is able to relax more when the conversation turns to discussing Sharon’s relationship with Romanoff, a pairing that James is curious about. Sharon is nice and open while what he’s seen of Romanoff in the last week is a closed-off and menacing woman who only smiles when she’s with Sharon or occasionally talking to Steve or Sam.

“We shared a history class last year,” Sharon says, “and we kinda bonded together ‘cause we were the only two girls on the team. Wanda spends most of her time in her room or with Pietro. So, I asked her out for coffee at the end of the year, and the rest’s history.”

Sam and Steve are both single, but they dish on the rest of the team’s love life. Bruce has a thing for his old lab partner Betty Ross; the team’s betting on when they’ll go on their first date. Tony’s dating Pepper, a business major. Clint has an on-and-off girlfriend, Bobbi Morse, but he’s taken a chance to ask out Laura from SHIELD’s basketball team. Wanda’s crushing on a cognitive science major named Victor Shade, who they all call Vision for some peculiar reason and is friends with Tony. No one seems to know much about Pietro.

“What about you?” Sam asks James, and out of the corner of his eyes, James notices that Steve stops shoveling food into his mouth and begins to listen to their conversation with interest. “Got any boyfriend or girlfriends back home?”

“What? Nah. I don’t really swing,” James says honestly.

He’s kissed a few girls in Europe when he was in his early teens, but after Winifred caught him once, she shook him by the collar and sternly told him, “Girls and anyone else are distractions. They will only get you caught, and I didn’t raise you to be a fool, boy. I raised you to survive. No more distractions.”

The words found their way ingrained in his head, especially after he was fourteen and accidentally kissed the wrong girl whose boyfriend followed him home and forced Winifred and James to flee to another city out of fear of discovery.

He hasn’t thought about or looked at another girl or anyone else ever since.

“Cool,” Sharon chimes in. “If anyone ever catches your eyes though, just let us know, and we’ll do our best to help you out.”

“Noted,” James replies.

Is it just him, or just Steve look the slightest bit _disappointed_?

**Author's Note:**

> I have the first few chapters ready and will upload them gradually. This won't really be one of my greatest priorities, but if you do ever want to read more of this fic, come pressure me [on my blog](http://princess-of-the-worlds.tumblr.com/)! As usual, comments and kudos will be greatly appreciated and treasured. Feed my ego, por favor!


End file.
